


We, The Famously Forgettable

by pointlessproclamations



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not so) generic band of misfits, Activisim! Yeah!, Attempt at Humor, Community: HPFT, Drama, Eventually a taco, F/F, F/M, Gen, HPFT, Hogwarts, Humor, Internet, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Muggle Studies, Muggles, Multi, Next Gen but not really, Original Character(s), Other, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Social Issues, Social Media, Social psychology, Squibs, Students, University, What in the world is a Wotter?, lgbtqa+, self-aware narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointlessproclamations/pseuds/pointlessproclamations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><a href="http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/emiliemarinafuchs/media/WTFF/WTFF-primary_zps1mrbzhlo.gif.html"></a><img/><br/>A Farcical, Turbulent Wallowing about a Facetious Faction of Separatists. An iconoclastic conglomerate of nonconformists. A story of social relations as written by an unsocial introvert. . . this should go spiffingly.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. INTR 101: Introduction to Basics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Basic aspects of introductory principles; key cores, rudimentary essences; elementary basis of foundations; primary establishments; quintessential fundamentals; initiatory prefaces; entry-level groundwork; pre-rambling preamble; background formation; initiating commencements; like pilots; bread and butter; nuts and bolts. Prerequisite to everything that follows._

* * *

Condescension, social rejection, and Internet deprivation. These are the polite terms for what our conglomeration is heading towards. Collectively, it could be labelled a shit show.

They each had their reasons, crazy parents, curiosity, crazy parents, and David’s reason—not that he would tell you.

They had filed into their designated compartment on the train one by one. None of them came together—none of them had known each other previously.

Asha had arrived first, 15 minutes early. One could say it was a result of her nature to be more than punctual, one could say it was a result of her sheer excitement to get to their destination, despite knowing that the train left the station at a specific time, regardless of how early she got there.

Janus, Fang, and Fatima had arrived next. Fang had run into Janus on the platform, knocking him and the contents of his bag onto the ground. Fang, being the decent person she was, apologised and helped Janus pick up the stuff that was supposed to be in his bag but wasn’t because it was on the floor—books, pens, orange vials, earphones, etc. Janus, being grateful, profusely thanked Fang. Fatima, being a caring person, refused to succumb to the bystander effect and stepped forward to help out—not that she was of much use. David, being David, spotted his favourite coffee shop—unconventional enough to not be mainstream, but not as much to be ‘hipster’—and walked that way, deciding that he didn’t have to be 7 minutes early to a train.

Scott had planned his entrance—3 minutes early so as to arrive early enough to be able to settle down before the train started moving, but close enough to departure time to make his entrance to a sufficient number of people. What could he say? He was particularly proud of his outfit and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that—it gave him a sizeable following on a generic visual media-focused social media platform.

Li and Pepé had spent the better half of 10 minutes outside the wall to the platform. They couldn’t bring themselves to do it. It was dumb—it was really, really dumb. It was dumber than the time before his family moved out of South Africa that Pepé forgot which glass of orange juice he put the ghost pepper in while trying to prank his friend. It was dumber than the time Li thought moustaches were a good idea, even though he could only manage one as sparse as a flea’s posterior abdomen. It was exceptionally dumb.

So what did they do? They started running into it. . . as if that was any smarter and it made any difference. Li knew this. He knew a lot of things.

David walked into the compartment last and Scott whispered to Asha who sat right beside him, “If he were craft beer, I’d totally tap that.”

Before Asha could reply—not that she was going to—a wizard appeared at the doorway and greeted them with a friendly smile. Our conglomerate collectively stiffened in their seats and all conversation would have stopped if it weren’t for the fact that there had been any going on.

This elderly fellow was obviously a wizard. Our conglomerate knew this, for he was dressed absurdly, he carried a wand, and they all knew about that sort of thing.

They knew about that sort of thing because they weren’t ‘Muggles,’ as the world they were entering called it. No, our conglomerate consisted of ‘squibs’ and they were on a train to Flamel University, that small, private university almost everyone out of Hogwarts attends in order to further their education.

“Good morning, students,” he even sounded like a wizard with his voice: gravelly, yet smooth at the same time. His eyes were twinkling brilliantly. “I trust you’ve all gotten to know each other?”

Nobody answered that question—who immediately starts conversing with strangers, anyway?

“Right. . . well, maybe in a little bit.” The aforementioned twinkle died a little. There was an unsaid, but unanimously heard _because where you’re going, you’ll probably only have each other._ Well unanimous except for Asha and Scott, but that’s another thing.

“In any case, I am glad you have all accepted our invitation, although this wasn’t quite the turnout we were expecting. . . only eight of you, but no matter.” He smiled again, making eye contact with each member of our conglomerate.

“I am Professor Butler. I am the dean of Flamel University. Welcome. I invited you all earlier to the university so that you could take the time to familiarise yourself with the Wizarding World for those of you who have been displaced from it and to provide you with an extra special orientation before the actual orientation with your future classmates, most of whom have already had a tour of the grounds in their seventh year.”

At this point, the train stopped, apparently arriving at its destination—it wasn’t far out in the middle of nowhere as Hogwarts was. In fact, taking a look around at his surroundings, Scott realised that it was just a walk away from where he lived with his family. Upon this realisation, Scott rolled his eyes. To be fair, this was a school hidden by a lot of tall bushes and Scott hadn’t been actively living at home for a while.

Professor Butler talked his new students through the tour of the grounds—the library, the wing designated for auror training, the wing for healing training, the Quidditch pitch—because Quidditch would still be the only academic sport, and so on.

“This institute was built in the late 1990s to make it look as though it were built in the 1700s.” The dean’s voice echoed along the hallways lined with new olden tapestries and suits of armour.

When they reached the cafeteria, Professor Butler turned to his students, bade them farewell, and left them free to explore for a few hours.

Halfway through that parting, David checked his phone one more time to see if it could find Wi-Fi. . . to absolutely no result, to indisputably no one’s surprise, to definitely, and predictably, his disappointment.

“So. . . “ Scott cleared his throat loudly to get the group’s attention. “Maybe we should go around introducing ourselves? I’m Scott Tanner,” he started before anyone could disagree. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

A pause as the conglomerate debated whether or not the time of being complete strangers to one another had passed.

“And,” Scott continued as if he didn’t find that pause awkward, “I’m 20, I took two gap years to travel, and I am studying International Relations.” At this point, most of the group had him down as ‘privileged, white, male from a pureblood family who still loves him unconditionally.’ That was great. Good for him.

Fatima, almost taking pity on Scott, introduced herself. “I am Fatima Hightower, I just finished my A-levels, and I am majoring in Journalism with a minor in ‘Muggle' Studies.”

And that caught the rest of the group’s attention. “Why Muggle Studies, you didn’t go to a ‘Muggle’ school, you know, with ‘Muggles?’” Pepé asked—even though he, himself, signed up for Intro to Muggle Studies.

“I did, I wanted to see how they study the non-magical community, their perspective. . .” Fatima, pushed her curls behind her ears.

“And what you mean by that is finding out if the wizarding community is going to be condescending arseholes about ‘Muggle’ studies.” David pointed out.

“Absolutely.” Fatima nodded almost aggressively.

“If you signed up for that one Intro to Muggle Studies course, we might be in the same class.” Fang smiled at Fatima warmly.

“Hey, same.”

“Did we all just sign up for Intro to Muggle Studies?” Scott kept an eye on David, ensuring that he nodded.

“Pretty much.” Li nodded.

“Yup, yup.”

To some, it worked as a fulfillment of curiosity with regards to level of condescension, to others, it was a blow-off course, conveniently meeting their elective requirements and the requisite number of credits needed to keep their scholarships (which was honestly equivalent to just one course). To clarify, all of them received a scholarship. The requirements? Being a Squib. The standards, in fact, had been so low, that David, who had first filled out the form as a joke was accepted. The following were some of his answers the the questions on the form:

 _Q: Why do you think you deserve to go to Flamel University with this scholarship?_  
_A: Because I’m a squib and that’s literally all you need, right?_

 _Q: What are your goals in life?_  
_A: Your money, thankyouverymuch._

That last one didn’t even make much sense.

David had considered throwing away his acceptance letter and not looking back until he read that 95% of all graduates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with a fair bit of international students, attended this Flamel University. The remaining 5% included those who couldn't afford it despite the countless amount of scholarships given by Hermione Granger and those named after the many casualties of the Battle of Hogwarts, those who went to Romania to study dragons or some shit like that, and those who simply didn't want to. Why did that catch his attention and motivate him to actually attend? He probably wouldn’t tell you.

“Cool,” Pepé nodded. “I’m Pepé Obi and I’m studying sport psychology, although I don’t really know what I’m doing—I. . . I was kind of hoping to get into sports or something.”

Knowing full well he was set up against an even greater load of wizard biases than normal with that one, Li gave him two thumbs up. Li pointed to himself, bringing attention to the letters on his jumper, spelling out ‘ICONOCLASTIC.’

Li settled for this introduction: “I’m Li Cheng. I signed up for science and math courses, but they’ll probably be a joke—that’s unfortunate. I actually wanted to go to a recognised school and get a degree that could get me a job, but I guess I’m stuck here.” Li’s voice was noticeably nasal.

Prior to this introduction, the group had pegged him down as ‘relatively social-forward with a stylish pouf above his side cut,’ but that had since morphed into more of a ‘I know my hair implies that I’m into following trends and chilling with the peeps, but my mum did this for me and I don’t actually like to partake in many things that require talking to other people—I’m very uncomfortable right now and you may have noted that I have a tendency to keep my eyes very, very wide and avoid eye contact. I’m also feeling unstable due to the extended separation from technology I’m currently suffering from.’

“It might not be all bad,” Asha interjected. “I think the Wizarding World is opening up a bit.” But only Asha believed Asha.

“My name is Asha Medford and I am taking Arts.” She smiled before adding, “I really do think it’s a good thing that the Wizarding World is opening up to. . . our kind a bit more by letting us study together.”

She seemed sweet.

Getting into the pattern and having unconsciously formed a circle, the group turned to Janus expectantly.

“Who knows?” Janus shrugged. “I’m Janus Burns, I’m in general studies here and electrical engineering in another university.” Janus, on the surface didn’t reveal much. Nevertheless, Fang knew better. Although, for the purpose of avoiding confirmation bias, she willed herself to hold judgement until further information was known.

Fang decided not to keep her introduction very long, or very open for that matter. “Alright. You can call me Fang. I am here studying adult education.”

“Ooh, are you two related?” Scott asked interrupting her, looking between her and Li.

No answer.

David raised his coffee cup to the group slightly. “David. . . statistics,” and with that, he took a sip from aforementioned coffee cup. “Pleasure to embark on what is inevitably going to be a shit show with all of you.”

“No offence, mate, but you look too old for first year university,” Scott remarked.

“Fair,” David shrugged. “True, too.” It’s not that David was opposed to socialising with his peers, he just didn’t really like it. On most occasions, he found it tiring.

“So, how old are you?” Fatima scrunched her eyebrows together. She had no time for something as trivial as manners as dictated by society.

“Probably ancient,” Li appeared to evaluate him with a straight face, “I mean, you’ve got no hair on your head and there’s that beard. . .”

David tilted his head, “Is my bald head going to be the butt-end of every joke from now?”

“Probably,” Janus answered thoughtfully.

“It is smooth and round and. . . “ Fang was silenced with a glare, though she kept her smirk on.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m 22. . . and I doubt I’m the oldest.”

And this resulted in defensive statements of age around the group: Fatima and Pepé the most vocal two, proclaimed they were both 18, fresh out of secondary school, not that anyone needed to be reassured.

“Look, I know I look 12. . . “ Li had started, as a matter of factly.

“I'm a vegetarian,” revealed Janus seemingly randomly, “but I eat fish.”

In his defence, the majority conversation had quieted right after Fatima discussed her veganism with him.

“Bro, that makes you a pescetarian.” Pepé pointed out.

“I'm pretty sure it's peace-tartan.” Li pointed out.

Asha revealed she was 21 and had been working in a book shop in Diagon Alley after her A-levels and that was because she didn’t know what she wanted to do because Muggle institutes didn’t seem like an option to her.

Nobody wanted to point out to her that she could study Arts just the same in a non-magical institute—it was Arts.

Janus was 19—that was it. The group decided that he didn’t like to talk about himself much and moved on, except for Fang who, all this while, kept looking at him as if she knew what was up, as if something was up. See, Fang already had a doctorate degree in health psychology and she’d like to think she knew what was up—she was right. . . well, on most cases.

So it was Fang who was the oldest, although in her defence, as the group had established, it was only by several months.

“What is someone with a doctorate degree doing here?” David asked her privately when Scott decided that, hungry as they were, they should walk to his place and raid the fridge there.

“What is someone who looks like he got that leather jacket with a decently-figured salary doing here?” Fang countered.

“Probably not the same thing. . . Doctor.”

A glare-off commenced.

“What? I can’t go back to school? Maybe I want to become a psychology professor in the Wizarding World.”

“Maybe. . . but I’m pretty sure you hate this world.”

“I could say the same thing as you. In fact, I will say the same thing about you, David. I am pretty sure you hate this world. What are you doing here?”

It was the beginning of a very beautiful friendship full of trust.

 

 

“How do you know I have a doctorate degree?” Fang turned around mid-storming away.

“Oh, I totally forgot” exclaimed David, smiling sheepishly, “You dropped your lanyard at the station when you bumped into Burns.”

“Right. . . “ Fang took her lanyard from David’s outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

 

 


	2. INTR 102: Introduction to Basics Tutorial - How to Make an Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Basic methods of entrance: entering; conceptual fashionable lateness. Will not discuss basic door mechanisms, door etiquette, entering-leaving duality of divided spaces or doors. Taken with INTR 101. Not open to students who have credit for DOOR 111._

* * *

“How would internet access be possible in the Wizarding World?” David asked Scott, trying to ignore his third attempt to hit on him.

“Pretty possible depending on where you are, but mostly just improbable: no bars in most heavily magical area—that includes school—but they haven't got any modems. Higher if it's closer to non-magical communities, or like here in my house with my modem.”

“What about other sorts of technology?”

“Mostly, magical people can use them, but like, they choose not to as a form of cultural snobbism—for instance, you could probably walk into school with, like, Nizzy Majay singing about phallic euphemisms on a stereo system from the 2000s at school if you like.”

David nodded at this and Scott took the time to look more closely at the scar on his forehead, splitting his left eyebrow. Scott found this very attractive. David, looking up, understood that Scott found this very attractive and David found that uncomfortable because David was actually quite a shy person, so he started up a conversation with Asha.

“Arts. . .” She nodded. “You could study that in a non-magical university, couldn’t you?”

Asha laughed. Not the kind of laugh one produces when finding something funny, but the kind of laugh one produces to dilute the awkwardness of social situations. “I just don't think that's really for me.” She laughed again and walked away.

“Hmm,” Fatima considered this thoughtfully. David on the other hand, blurted, “Yeah, non-magical schools wouldn't really match her brand of elitism.”

“Mate, you’re from Estonia?! No offence, but I really didn't see that coming.” Scott’s voice sometimes had the tendency to carry.

Li raised his eyebrows.

“And I have to say, your English is really, really good.”

“For someone who didn't speak it for most of their life or for someone who has known it for all their life?” Fatima stepped forward.

Li blinked and pushed up his glasses.

Janus coughed in the background.

“Well, both I guess. I mean wow.”

“Right.”

“Did you know that people outside of predominantly-English speaking countries can learn and speak English?” Fatima piped up. Fatima, being Fatima cared about cultural insensitivities. Li, being Li, didn't give a shit even if it was as potent as spicy beans, attacked his large intestines, and increased bowel movement drastically.

A pause before the conversation turned back to expectations of displays of haughtiness.

Janus cleared his throat in the background.

“So, what's your read on these people Dr. Fang?” David raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” She asked politely, as if their little tiff hadn’t happened.

“You're a psychologist, what do you see in these people?”

“You think that just because I am a psychologist, that makes me qualified to judge people?” Her politeness faltered.

“No, I think you're more qualified to identify patterns of behaviour.” David corrected.

“As a professional,” Fang’s eyes narrowed, “what makes you think I’d tell you, anyway?”

“You're not exactly bound by nondisclosure agreements.”

Fang shook her head, but resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“How about I start and you jump in whenever you like?” He looked her in the eye and made sure she nodded before he continued, “elitist in the cardigan: she means well, but she still thinks magical people are superior to non-magical people.”

“She fears people might think negatively of her, she’s deeply affected by her ‘condition,’” Fang put in a nicer way.

“Which means?” David’s red-brown eyebrows raised.

“Does it have to mean anything?” Fang shrugged the way she did all her movements—in a small, light way, “That could just be her M.O.”

“Not that there's potential there for social anxiety? She's grown up with these people so much more than the rest of us as far as I've heard.”

Fang was impressed and otherwise at the same time. “You ask to throw shade?”

“No.” David was instantly on guard.

“Oh you're just concerned?” See, Fang was great at turning conversations around.

“Am I wrong to be?”

“No, I just didn't expect you to be. Why are you concerned? Why should you care?” Fang’s eyes were sharp and probing.

“What? Are you going to use regression to take me through my childhood to find a story in there somewhere?”

“Two things. The first: no, because I think there are other styles of therapy with a stronger base of evidence than psychodynamic therapy. The second: is there a story somewhere in your childhood, David? What even is your last name?”

“Says Oda ‘you-can-call-me-Fang’ Fang.”

“It's a simple question.”

“My childhood?”

“No, you know exactly what I mean.” Fang’s voice was level, but firm—she near glared at him.

David pretended to consider answering that question, scratching his beard. “How about I refrain from telling you now that I know you’re curious, just to spite you?”

* * *

After Professor Butler explained Hermione Granger’s initiative to re-integrate squibs more wholeheartedly into Wizarding society by providing tax benefits to schools accepting Squibs, even more so on a scholarship basis, the said Squibs entered through the double doors of the auditorium, fashionably late, in a glorious display of side cuts and skinny jeans. In this world, it was borderline avant-garde.

“Tax benefits?” Fatima whispered to Janus. “That's all we’re good for?” She sneered.

Did any of the hundreds of students in that auditorium know that these late-comers were the Squibs? No, not that our group realised that. Why didn’t they know? Well, Professor Butler had effectively lost the attention of the entire assembly between “Good” and “Evening.”

The group had noticed, and predicted, that Asha, being Asha, would take a seat in the back of the auditorium just as they entered. They let her be.

The rest of them, led by Scott, sat in the front row.

Some may say that David effortlessly resisted the urge to survey the crowd behind him, but that would be false, because if anyone wanted to survey the faces of the first years in this auditorium most, it would be David—he had his reasons, not that he would tell you.

“What vibe are you getting from the back of your head?” Janus asked Pepé.

Pepé tilted his head, “the mohawk senses awe.”

“Really?” Janus asked. “I’m feeling mild discomfort.” He turned to Li who looked at him and looked away, not understanding nonverbal language very well.

“I'm estimating 5% awe, 35% disgust, 55% annoyance, and 5% tolerance that will lead to experiences consisting of 75% avoidance, 0% attempts at friendship, but who wants to befriend elitist arseholes with wooden sticks, and 15% blatant snobbery, which might have been better than the 10% we would have encountered without being late.” David interjected. “I give the entire thing 0 rodent posteriors.”

“What are you? An actuary for social reputations?” Fang raised an eyebrow and David stifled his laughter in a cough.

“Is this,” Li pointed between them, “what flirting is supposed to look like?”

Fatima commented that the point was slightly heteronormative, albeit amusing.

All this conversation, was carried out while ignoring whatever else Professor Butler had to say in his welcome speech. It’s a magical school, yes, but that didn't make this particular welcome speech much different than any Fang, David, and Janus had experienced in their respective non-magical post-secondary schools: Welcome. This place is wonderful. We have great stuff. Statistics! You will find your future here.

The speech was meant to reassure the first years for the most part—to excite them. University was an exciting journey, but to be honest, from unstimulated to feeling the hairs of a spider’s legs brush against the base of your neck and down your spine, we’re getting a 2 on the squirm scale from the first years. They’re. . . well, they’re okay.

It seemed very much as though welcome speeches were uninventive madlibs received by every educator at orientation day. At one point, Professor Butler had asked a colleague what another word for ‘delighted’ was, forgetting that his voice was magically enhanced and it didn’t work like a microphone where one could step away from it and not be heard.

Although only Professor Butler, maybe you, and I were paying attention to Professor Butler, he persisted on with his bloody speech. He promised that this year’s Squib Programme would be much better than that other one where Hermione Granger, concerned about the treatment of prisoners and their lack of improvement upon re-entry, passed a motion to have small-crime prisoners serve a portion of their sentence at Hogwarts doing community service. That programme had scared the shite out of many parents.

Despite that, professors that year would tell you that less students were caught in violation of school rules than any other year; some people learn from their mistakes, some people learn from the mistakes of others, and some people learn and educate others about their mistakes.

That programme ended before that academic year did because, again, the shite—also, depressed house elves having not much work left to do.

On an unrelated note, that was the same year that most people reported misplacing their belongings.

There was that.

During dinner at the food court, the group had primarily stuck together except for Asha who had disappeared to her dorm, presumably and Scott who had gone out with his own magical friends to a bar. One by one, they parted. Fatima, concerned by whether or not the food was ethically sourced and wondering if anything was vegan, left to find a cook. At 7 sharp, Janus excused himself to head home.

“They probably look at toast and wonder why and how bread became crunchy.” David was saying about their classmates.

“I never really had a toaster at home, but we sometimes just used the fire or the oven.” Li pointed out.

“That Professor Butler said that he expected a better turnout of us. What did he mean by that?” Pepé’s more serious tone changed the subject.

“Probably that he didn't expect so many of us to have better things to do than to go to a barely legitimately recognised school without wifi.” Fang explained.

“What made you come here?” Li asked Fang, then tilted his head. “Didn't have anything better to do?”

“Maybe I take pity on them and recognise their need for qualified educators.” Fang shrugged.

“You don't become triumphant and beat the system when you patronise the patronising; you just become hypocritical.” David argued.

Fang knew that looking away would imply surrender and give rise to even more questions, so she didn't do that. Instead, she shrugged again. “Your turn.” She turned to Li.

He answered automatically. “My parents heard about this programme and pushed me into joining. They don't know that I applied for computer science courses online and. . .” then realising what he’d revealed, “I hope you will not make this known to them.”

Fang nodded in approval or with sympathy—Li didn’t really know. She looked at Pepé.

“I've never been spectacular academically, so mostly, I just wanted to be with my sister. I missed out on so much when she went to Hogwarts and I didn't, I don't know what I'm doing.” Pepé shrugged and leant back in his seat.

David, realising it was his turn, opted for a partial truth, “I was mostly curious. When I didn't get my letter, there was. . . well, I spent the rest of my years focused on the non-magical world. I became separated from the magical world. . . and, in turn, from people I knew. It's not like I'm paying for any of this, anyway.”

“You are, with your time. . . So you came here?” Fang asked softly, not quite believing his story, but not wanting to push him so much and show that. “Out of all the things to do? What about your job?”

He just shrugged—there was a lot of that going on in this conversation.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Fang found herself unlocking the back entrance to her apartment building mentally going over her schedule for the next day: hospital work in the day, class just before dinner, and find out what in the world David was really up to—if she cared. She checked her mail box before going to up to her studio, trying to ignore that familiar pang upon not finding the letter she was waiting for. . . for the sixteenth month in a row.

 


	3. ESCA 404: Abrupt Escapism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Concepts fundamental to sudden goneness such as escaping from unwanted situations, seemingly undesirable social groups, dead end conversational topics, tense social situations, and filler chapters. The principles of quick-thinking and false truths. Requires one year of general escapism. Serves as prerequisite to KUSA 100: Intro to Ninja, currently taught by Professor C. Norris although that information is irrelevant and not usually found in course descriptions perhaps because we’d then end up writing more about the course that this course is a prerequisite for as opposed to this course itself._

“The irony of Persons magazine is that it doesn’t treat the people in it like normal people because if it did there would be no Persons magazine.” Fatima was remarking to Pepé when Scott interrupted.

“Good morning, guys!” He held his arms out to bring attention to his turquoise dress shirt, his teal pants, his blue bow tie, and his bright purple pocket square that he’d housed in the pocket of his pants. What? He looked great.

The thing about Scott was that he happened to be very openly gay. The thing about Fatima was that she harboured a small dose of envy being in a constant state of confusion regarding her sexual orientation. The thing about Pepé was that, he didn’t really care about any of this all that much.

“So, I have news.” Scott continued. “Remember that entrance we made because we were accidentally late because Professor Butler didn’t tell us when to meet back at the auditorium and everything?”

Fatima and Pepé nodded.

“Right, so, apparently, nobody was paying attention. Literally, my friends were absolutely shocked that I was here—like, nobody would really know if we were, you know, Squibs.”

“Then who do they think we are?” Fatima didn’t know whether or not to be pleasantly surprised.

“I don’t know, probably international students or something—I mean there are a lot of those here and most of us aren’t exactly white.” Scott pointed out. “Hey Li.”

“Good morning.” Li nodded. Was a good morning for him in truth? Yes because he’d spent most of the night getting caught up with his online courses and that felt great. “Oh look, there’s Asha. Hey Asha—oh, she’s turning away—was she not Asha? Did Asha have a twin we didn’t know about?”

Scott muttered ‘bitch’ under his breath because if there was one thing Scott Tanner did not accept, it was shame—shame of oneself or shame of one’s social circle. Scott valued transparency and liked to think that he had a knack for cutting through bullshit the way highly-recognised figures cut through lines at nightclubs, museums, and dinner reservations.

But Li seemed completely unaffected—albeit confused slightly by Asha’s behaviour.

“It’ll be alright,” Fang patted Scott lightly on the shoulder.

* * *

 

David walked into school carrying only the most recent of the world’s terrorist attacks, global warming effects, fallacious social experiments, economic crises, political discourse, and a sudoku puzzle.

David started becoming invested in keeping up with global news since he was 19 and since then, he hadn’t looked back. In this new world he had long since isolated himself from—as he’d like to tell himself—he felt it was important to add Wizarding World news into his daily reading material. David wouldn’t lie, he found it disappointing to find no sudoku puzzles on the Daily Prophet, but he’d have to make do.

He felt ridiculous because it was university and he had already graduated, he felt old walking amongst these young people who had yet to see much of life outside school. He also noted that, when given the chance to dress themselves, these ex-Hogwartsians did so poorly. He wrinkled his nose at a classmate’s bright idea to pair pastel floral with neon geometric. In truth, David was just trying to distract himself. See, David was on a bit of a mission today—he needed to speak to the Dean, Professor Butler, or, as the nameplate on his office door read: Dean Professor Archer Mason Christian Butler. David found this amusing because, as the book he found in the school library last night had noted, the Dean had forgone his Professor duties, never tried archery, probably never been a mason nor a Christian, and never been or had a butler. It was a curiously long and ill-fitting name. Back to David’s bit of a mission though. . .

“David, is it?” The dean boomed, “I was just about to see you regarding your forms, but first, what brings you here?”

David had to think fast, “Statistics.”

“Right. . .”

“I am working on this project,” he explained. “About students and their families. . .”

“Right. . .”

“I just needed a list of all the students of this school to see if having a family member as an alumnus or alumna of this school increases the probability of them. . . attending the school.”

“Rig—”

“And if they are more likely to study the same thing,” David cut him off quickly. “I was hoping you might have some information—the raw data—that could help me out.”

“I can do that—I can do you one better, too—I can give you a copy of their information—including the names of the parents of these students and their field of study. After all, Flamel University did only come into being when other post-secondary institutions were destroyed during the war.”

 _This is totally a violation of student confidentiality,_ David figured and _does this guy just want to please everybody? That’s weak._ “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome, David,” Professor Butler nodded. “You shall have everything you need before you leave my office. . . In the meantime, to the matter of your forms, there was some information I was missing and I was wondering if you could help me out with that.” 

* * *

 

“Eiwen, bae,” Scott greeted his oldest magical friend, Eiwen Argall. They mock-kissed and hugged each other tightly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“How have you been?” Eiwen took a seat across him in the cafeteria. “I’m terribly excited about going to school with you—it’s going to be so much fun to have my best friend in the whole world here with me.”

Unlike the majority of Scott’s many, many, many magical friends, Eiwen actually meant that, or she’d like to think she did. Eiwen meant to mean a lot of the things she said—she meant to be a sweet and enthusiastic person.

“I am so good right now, well—except for—you know what? Let’s not talk about her. How are you? How is your brother?”

It was when they had gotten around to comparing schedules that they were joined by Pepé, Fatima, and Janus who had spent the afternoon learning how to play exploding snap amongst a collection of 10 minute classes of introductions and syllabus-giving and policy-reminding.

“It’s an astoundingly horrific game,” Janus explained. It did little good to his nerves—Janus didn’t like things that shocked him.

“Darling, your friends are adorable,” Eiwen laughed before stopping short and letting a quiet “Oh hello.”

Janus, Fatima, and Pepé turned to see Fang and David approach, explaining to Li that the lack of microwaves in this institution were a result of snobbery labelled as ‘culture’ and a widely popularised misconception that every single technological invention created by the non-magical population did not function within areas of high magical activities.

“Well, that isn't very logical,” Li snorted and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly; it was just one of his character quirks.

David noticeably did a double take at the wand-twirling chick sitting at the table and studied her more closely before sitting down. Granted, the only one who didn't seem to notice this was the said female who was otherwise preoccupied by unnecessarily tucking a lock of hair behind her ear although it had previously been behind her ear already.

Scott introduced the rest of the group to Eiwen who gave these new people equally flirty looks, although this was only Janus’s assessment of the situation and, to be fair, he didn't really care all too much.

“Eiwen Argall,” David’s ears perked up as Scott named the chick because to him, it was a familiar name. Why? He wouldn't tell you, but he was just handed a list of attendees of this institution, so maybe it had something to do with that. Fang noticed he was in a much better mood today.

It seemed that this group attracted interruptions convenient to dead end conversational points because, at that moment, a group of girls wearing matching shirts and jeans walked up to them.

“Argall,” said the leader of the pack in a voice that was the auditory embodiment of an artificial sweetener—not in that it was just artificially sweet, but that it was obviously not equivalent to genuine sweetness and seemed to result in harmful effects—Eiwen’s face soured and greeted the girl bitterly, but that's enough with the gustatory descriptions for now.

Eiwen’s actual words were indiscernible as words tend to be through gritted teeth—her dental hygienist would have a talk about teeth clenching later.

What could be clearly heard was Tanner’s, “Medford. New friends?”

Medford declined to comment, choosing instead a combination of genuine recession towards the back of her own group and rolling of eyes in an act of falsified confidence.

In the meantime, “Great, how typical is this—Greek organisations,” Fatima muttered.

“Those aren't Greek letters,” Li pointed at the end girls’ shirts.

“They look more like a pair of legs, a wonky lamppost with a feathered boa, and a bedazzled hoof,” Janus squinted.

“Guys, those are ancient runes,” Pepé pointed out.

“Your new friends are lame,” the still nameless leader of the girl pack bluntly stated.

“They're not the ones wearing broom bristles for eyelashes and tacky matching outfits on top of being high-strung, judgemental bitches still being Hogwarts brats,” Eiwen crossed her black skinny leather trouser-clad legs, showing off her leather high-heeled ankle boots. Between her, Fang, and David, there was enough synthetic leather to re-skin a cow if that were possible.

“Seriously, you leave these Hogwarts graduates a chance to dress themselves and they can't seem to get it right,” Scott scoffed then put his hand on Eiwen’s shoulder, “No offence.”

“None taken.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Janus was explaining to Fang in their side conversation, “but I eat fish.”

“Bro, you’re a pescetarian.” Pepé insisted.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s peskey-tartlet.” Li corrected.

“Your first mistake was leaving this sisterhood—” another girl piped in harshly, getting back onto the main conversation.

“It's a sorority, let's not glamourise it.” Eiwen held her hand up.

“I'd say that calling it a sisterhood just makes it sound creepier.” Scott wrinkled his nose.

“Your second mistake,” the other nameless girl continued, talking over them, “is being a bitch about.”

“I'm game to own up that. I'm accountable to my actions.” Eiwen narrowed her eyes, “unlike some people who don't recognise they've crossed a line and use an ex-’sister’ as a scapegoat.”

“Oh, get over it, you were suspended for a week. Blah, blah, blah. Nobody cares.” She rolled her eyes.

Did all the girls in this sorority truly agree with this? No. Some had a stronger moral compass and a degree of integrity, but the thing about being in a group is that you succumb to the normative influence of group conformity and deindividuation.

In such groups, it can be difficult to remember that groups are comprised of individuals, each with different backgrounds and lives and goals, especially when said group is infuriating.

“Hey, fake face that a dozen Pygmy Puffs sacrificed their eyes for, your predictably stereotypical jock boyfriend that was once dating me is talking another woman.” Eiwen pointed behind said fake face who screeched and turned with eyes that covert military operations organisations could be jealous of.

“Quick run,” Eiwen whispered before leading the group out of the cafeteria leaving no trace they had very been on the table. . . because in those minutes, none of them had shed so much as a dead skin cell not a strand of hair and the seats were magically designed to stay cushiony forever.

“Why did we do that?” Li asked.

“Why did you follow?” Janus replied-asked.

“I didn't want to get left behind. . . and, duhh, we didn't finish our conversation about microwaves.”

“Why _did_ we do that?” David raised an eyebrow—the scarred one.

“I watch too many sitcoms,” Eiwen admitted. “It may impair my judgement on occasions. Anyway, I have to get to Professor Ryan because I'm a TA for his next class.”

The important question here was, of course, was that boy toy really talking to another woman? Your answer: yes. He was discussing a very important with the lunch lady who had yet to change her name from Boris to either Linda or Meredith—she couldn't decide.

 

[ ](http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/emiliemarinafuchs/media/Screen%20Shot%202016-05-21%20at%209.21.21%20PM_zpsxwznqhyv.png.html)


	4. APBI 383: Metaphorical Entomology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A survey of the classification of metaphorical uses of insects with particular attention to Order Diptera; including those on vertical structures used to divide or enclose spaces and apparati used to keep together pieces of fabric._

“I don't mind religion, really, just as long as it's not used to start a war, gets in the way of scientific progress, prove itself to be a barrier to equality and health, or used as a skirt to hide behind being bigoted. See, with atheism, if you do any of those things, that just makes you a dick—and I like that, that's what you call accountability.” Fatima was discussing her atheism with David, who was agnostic because he really didn't give a shit—which was insulting to agnosticism—and Fang who liked to think of herself as ‘culturally Buddhist.’

“Uhh, that nice.” Fang nodded because it gave the appearance of listening as they walked into their ‘Muggle’ studies course.

Meanwhile, Scott, Li, Janus, and Pepé followed behind, bonding over the chronicled, intergalactic adventures of _Voyage Battles_ with intermittent commentary on the absolute uselessness of weapons-use. David and Fang did not join in on this conversation to escape Fatima’s rambling. They weren’t exactly millennial enough to understand or relate much. Then again, neither of them related to much of popular culture from any generation. It was not that they didn't know much.

David knew things. He knew that although the first and second _Uncle_ films were excellent and highly acclaimed, _The Uncle III_ was as disappointing as puppies finding empty food bowls after they heard the super-duper special cupboard of hunger cessation open and close. David knew this, though he had yet to ever watch the films. He just didn't have time and when he did, was it really his fault that infantile canine introduction to functional pedalism was just so irresistable?

Fang knew things too. She knew and remembered almost everything that led to her doctorate degree—even tidbits from that course on Vascular Botany. Fang, being Fang, was always too preoccupied with her work at the hospital and catching up on current research to bother with anything else. . . Well, that's not completely true. She did have time for colouring on occasion. _It's an adult colouring book,_ she justified mentally.

“My name is Ryan,” declared a voice from the front of the room, “I'm from Canada, as you might have gathered from the accent.”

“Goddamn, of course he's fit,” whispered Scott from across the table of seven.

“Just kidding. Most of you probably thought I was American—rest assured, I am not. This is why, throughout the year, I’ll be wearing patriotic shirts,” Ryan pointed to his shirt depicting a jar of maple syrup with the text _This is not maple syrup_ , “and maybe a Mountie Hat, to remind you I’m Canadian. Welcome to.” Ryan—was that his last name or his first name or his only name? Ryan picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the board, “Muggle Studies.”

“If you have just realised you were meant to be at Ancient Runes or Herbology or something like that, you may take the time to leave now.”

During his spiel, Eiwen, crossed out ‘Muggle’ on the board and wrote ‘non-magical’ underneath.

“Oh, I almost forget, I am so sorry, this is Eiwen, the TA. Eiwen, would you like to introduce yourself?”

Eiwen looks at him then at the class, not smiling, and raised a hand, “I'm Eiwen.”

“. . . Okay. Eiwen is studying Muggle—”

“Non-magical.” Eiwen corrected.

But Ryan hadn't stopped talking nor did he correct himself, “—Studies for her Master’s degree.”

Fang noticed that David hadn't seemed to notice neither the professor nor the TA the moment he sat down. She wondered if his ceaseless survey of the classroom was a result of boredom. Maybe that was the case—not that he’d tell you about it.

“I'm hoping this will be an exciting class for you. This year, we will not be using any specific textbook—”

Then, the groans of those who had bought the textbook came like a wave on a shore, but less calming and more annoyed.

Again, Ryan didn't stop talking amongst the wave of groans, but I only caught his words again at, “other resources we will use to immerse ourselves fully into Muggle—

“Non-magical.” Eiwen paused from passing out the syllabus.

“Culture and their ways. I hope what you will learn will inspire you because. . .” He paused, not for dramatic effect, but to sip his coffee, “we, and by we, I mean you, will be writing a paper on Muggle—”

“Non-magical.”

“Culture—yes.” Ryan pointed to a raised hand.

“What sort of topics are you expecting? I mean, more specifically,” the owner of the raised hand asked.

“Generally, anything. Any aspect of their lives unique to ours, but it doesn't really have to be. Something that stands out to you. In about a month, you will choose your topics and confirm them with me. I can help you out. Don't worry about it too much.” Ryan’s smile lessened the almost palpable anxiety of the classroom. It was like a storm of anxiety, and at the eye of it, our conglomerate of seven. Asha was elsewhere; some other table. She was nervous.

“If there are no more questions, class is dismissed, see you all—

“Next week,” Eiwen provided.

“—when I see you which is when I'll start taking attendance—attendance and participation in discussions matters in this class, so be there . . . and, uh, enjoy the sunshine.”

* * *

 

“They're going to find out one way or another.” The discussion has started out reasonably civilised in Scott’s home where he had invited them all—barring Asha—for tea and biscuits.

“But we don't know that, we can't guarantee that.” Li was uncomfortable with not knowing things, which is why he was uncomfortable around people. Li didn't know people.

“And,” added Pepé, “we don't know how they will react.”

“Guys, it's bound to happen. Questions will be asked.” Fatima’s voice was steadily increasing in volume.

“Yeah, goodness knows what Medford is going through right now.” Scott wrinkled his nose, not knowing whether or not to feel sorry for her.

“Forget her for a moment. Why don't we just get a better feel for the crowd and decide then.” Pepé suggested.

“And what if ‘then’ is too late?” Li questioned thoughtfully and nervously.

Fang looked on at the quarreling and then further away at David who was in a phone call.

The conglomerate was sat in the Tanner living room debating the ‘coming out’ as non-magical individuals.

“We _have_ to stick together. It has to be a unanimous ‘go’ before _anyone_ speaks up about this.” Pepé nodded decidedly.

“Oh, you're just worried it will ruin your chances to get into the Quidditch team,” Fatima’s index finger played the role of an imaginary dagger.

“What?” Pepé was visibly outraged, “No! You think that matters to me right now?! You just want to be mad at something!”

“The bloody hell does that mean?”

“You know, we could face some serious bullying if it was anything like my childhood!”

“Can we all just agree to wait on it together?”

“Guys! This is pointless to me. My friends already know. I have no control over whom they tell right now.” Scott had an excellent point.

“Would being a part of your social circle clue them in?” Li analysed the situation carefully, but I'd he was honest with himself, he was concerned. There were too many variables.

“What are you suggesting?” Scott glared. In truth, Li was not suggesting anything; merely asking a question. Li wasn't one for the vitriolic side of social dynamics. Well, he wasn't one for any side of social dynamics.

“Just. . . think about it. How long before word gets out about the programme? How long before they connect the dots?” Fatima met Scott’s glare.

“Wow. If you're implying what I think you are, what's to stop me from telling everyone if all of you decide it's everyone one for themselves?!” Scott shouted. He ran his hand through his hair.

“You wouldn't. . . you have no right!” Fatima shouted back. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“I might be home later than usual again—I'm sorry. Are the little ones sleeping already?” Janus thought he heard David ask into his phone, but then David’s voice was drowned out by the shouting.

Janus was sat away from the quarrel because quarrels were no good for him. He avoided them with good reason. They made him feel less stable. He counted, as he did everyday, in his head. Janus counted a lot of things. For now, he managed. He wondered how long he could do so when Fang stood up.

“Settle down. . . Let's settle down. . . Come on,” her voice was soothing. She only continued after the grumbling died down, “we are all going to sleep on it for now, keeping in mind, all perspectives. We are going to get through this together and support each other. _All of us._ Okay? Because whatever happens, it might be nice to know that we have each other, right?”

Post-quarrel, grumble-filled, reluctant nodding ensued.

“Now,” Fang gently ushered everyone, “let's go home. It's been a long day.”

* * *

 

“Care for a drink?”

Fang looked left to see David pointing towards a bar. They hadn't spoken much on their way to the station.

Janus politely refused—it was just past seven o’clock—insisting he had to get home. Fang hugged him goodbye—not knowing whether it was more for his benefit or hers.

“Sure.” She shrugged.

* * *

 

“You called it.” Fang changed the subject, raising her White Russian slightly.

“Hmm?” David looked up, befuddled.

“Yesterday, you called this an ‘inevitable shit show.’ We’re a day in and things get ugly between us.”

“Are all arguments ugly, Oda?” David looked at her thoughtfully.

Fang resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose at the sound of her first name.

“So early on in a friendship, or, rather, acquaintanceship? Probably.” Of course Fang understood that the answer was much more complex than that.

David just nodded.

“On the other hand, if we can all keep our heads on for the next few days, we might come out of this as better friends.” That was an optimistic perspective and Fang knew this.

“About that, Oda. . . I'm sorry.” David’s voice was the most genuine Fang had heard it some they first met.

“Me too, David.” She have him a small smile that increased when he reciprocated the gesture.

I suppose they really didn't need to specify what they were each sorry for, given that they both seemed to understand. . . good for them. However, as a narrator, this just makes it harder for me to convey exactly what's going on here. So much is left unsaid—it's annoying. I'm not good with touchy-feely.

“So. . . will you tell me your last name now?” Fang knew that it was risky to ask if she really wanted to know, but right now, she was more concerned about lightening the mood.

David shook his head and let out a loud breath. Sort of in that whisper-laugh-but-through-the-nose-sort-of-way.

Fang raised an eyebrow a millimetre higher than the other one.

“I don't have one.” David made steady eye contact. Not with Fang, but with his drink.

“Oh.” Fang did her best not to sound surprised in the same when she did when her clients folder about their fixation on butt stuff with Voyage Battles action figures. Yes, I know that was horrific and disgusting imagery, but shit happens at therapy sessions and emergency rooms, okay?

“I'm a foster kid.” David didn't feel like explaining anything further at that point and Fang sensed this.

“I. . .” She hesitated as David turned to face her. “My parents and I haven't spoken in sixteen months. They were. . . upset that I chose a non-magical lifestyle over one in the Wizarding World. They. . . they don't know about my PhD.”

Fang didn't feel like elaborating either.

 _Sixteen months?_ David wondered, _Also, how do you sneak a doctorate degree?_

Instead of asking those questions, David went with this, “aren't you pretty young for a doctorate degree?”

Fang smirked, but in the nicer way. “I skipped a year or two of school when I lived in New York.”

“When did you move here?” David kept his eyes on her as her eyes wandered to the colourful rows of alcohol on wall behind the bar of the bar.

“I moved here four months ago; I figured it was time. Besides, I hadn't really seen much of my parents since I graduated two years ago.”

David understood. I'm sure you do too, by now.

“New York, huh?” David’s one and nine tenths of an eyebrow shot upwards. “And you moved here because of. . . what, fear of a certain set of facial characteristics stuck onto an unknown, but highly recognisable mass of pumpkin pureé stuffed into a suit with notably small lumps of rotting orange slices protruding from the cuffs, all topped with a light stack of fresh hay—fear of _that_ potentially running the country?”

“I was going to say I wanted to live here again with my parents, who had moved here by the time I was old enough to live alone, but that's another compelling reason, yes.”

David gulped.

* * *

 

“See you—”

“When I see you,” Fang finished later at the station as they parted ways.

It was a very clichéd moment where they both looked as though they wanted to say more.

Yeah, they aren't making this narrating thing any easier right now. I mean, who the bloody hell knows, right? Maybe _she_ had a small piece of dinner between her incisors and maybe _his_ fly was down. . . Or open. I don't get it. Does the fly refer to the entire zipper apparatus or just the component that you pull up and down?

 

 

 


	5. POLI 215: Critical Studies of Separatism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Potential manifestations of dissensions of identity politics, shared experiences of injustice, analysis of variable perspectives and motivations of separatism and integration with dominant groups._

“Hey Oda. You might need this.” David looked down at Fang, slumped in her chair and set down one of the two cups in his hand.

Fang smiled, a bit touched, although slightly still ‘iffy’ on the sound of him saying her first name. “Thanks, David, but I don't drink co—”

“It’s tea.” David smirked, but not the kind of smirk that forced Fang to restrain herself from jabbing his solar plexus.

“Double thanks.” Fang smiled wider as she accepted the cup.

David nodded as he sat down on the chair beside hers. “What’s up?”

Fang just looked at him with a tired face, “You’re username kept me up.”

“Oh?” David nearly choked on his tea, not expecting that. “How so?”

“It’s just—I thought about it, right,” Fang was doing well, keeping herself from smiling the way she wanted to, “it just makes no sense—oneandninetenthsofapairofeyebrows? That’s one and nine-tenths of a pair of eyebrows—as if you have one pair of eyebrows and nine-tenths of another pair.”

David was about to reject this claim quickly, but shut his mouth, thinking it through. He sulked a little, unwilling to admit defeat and being wrong, although to be honest, this was mostly just to try to make Fang laugh. He smiled to himself when he did so.

“They're still not communicating.” Fang said suddenly. She cradled her tea between her hands, enjoying the warming sensation.

“Right.” David set his messenger bag down on the seat next to her. “Is it our job to be involved?”

Fang shrugged. “They're vulnerable young adults who feel alone in this world because of a genetic lottery that’s got socially negative consequences.”

David felt a pang in his chest. He opened his mouth to reply, but a couple of classmates started seating themselves down beside him.

“Alright class, settle down it's time to take attendance.” Ryan sat down and reclined in his chair. It was a very comfortable chair. Today, he wore a faded white crew neck shirt with a red maple leaf—classic. “Okay wow, the table arrangements have changed. Whatever. Never mind. Let's get this started.”

Conversation stopped to give way to the sound of scraping chairs and a cough.

“Janus Burns.”

“Here.” Janus had his fingers at his temples—he never was very talented at sleeping, but last night was worst night in a long time.

And so attendance-taking began. This could be afforded for this was a rather small class. He was starting to wonder why he needed a TA.

“Li Cheng.”

“Present.” Li nodded, looking up from where he was rambunctiously setting up his typewriter; his laptop had died.

Oh right. He figured to himself. He had a TA so that she could take attendance for him. It was a very good move for him: it allowed him to worry less about showing up to class on time. Maybe he could have time for that better coffee about a block from here rather than the cheap dirt piss they served at the teacher’s lounge.

“Oda Fang. Oh hey.” Eiwen winked at her, recognising her.

Oda gave her a small wave.

“Fatima Hightower.”

Fatima had her head down on the desk, cradled in one of her arms. She raised the other. Fatima didn't have the calmest weekend—on Friday night, she attended a memorial for a tragic mudslide; on Saturday, she had an equal pay walk and an anti-islamophobia non-violent street protest; and on Sunday, she had a nine hour shift at her underpaid retail job.

“Vishnu Jones.”

“You can call me Vish.” Vish was tying his long hair with much struggling.

“Alright.” Eiwen jotted this down on the attendance sheet.

“Asha Medford.”

“Here.” Her voice was small, but that was Asha being Asha.

“Desta Obi.”

Pepé’s twin sister raised her hand. Fang noted she smiled about as wide and easily as Pepé did.

“Pepé Obi.” Pepé’s pearly whites practically glowed.

“Nima Said.”

“Here.” Eiwen nodded at Nima’s sense of style; she did colour coordination like nobody else with a hijab as her centrepiece. Nima had recently moved to London—she missed home in the bittersweet sort of way.

“Scott Tanner. Heey.” Eiwen and Scott performed a weird and unexplainable handshake that made you jealous you weren't a part of it.

“And David. . . No last name?” Eiwen sought out the last student.

He shrugged.

 

* * *

 “Desta,” Pepé hugged his sister. It’s not as though they hadn’t seen each other in a really long time; they just liked hugs.

“Pepé.” Desta offered him a fist bump. “Thanks for coming out to Quidditch tryouts to support me.”

Thanks for setting the scene.

“Supporting you? I’m trying out as well.” Pepé’s grin widened.

“Oh!” Desta’s eyebrows jumped up her forehead. She blinked with wide eyes.

“Yeah.” Pepé’s grin widened even more. “Think about it. We could be on the team together!”

“Yeah!” Desta gave an incredulous laugh.

“This is exciting, right?”

“Uh. . Yeah! Of course!” But Pepé saw the concern in Desta’s eyes—well, in her eyebrows. Her smile didn’t reach her eyebrows. You know, there were more straight and drawn together.

 

* * *

 “Hey guys.” Scott greeted his mates at field in front of the campus.

“Scott, mate!” Scott wasn’t daft—he caught that his friend’s face had changed from genuine cheeriness gradually to weariness and then quickly to not-quite-as genuine cheeriness.

“What’s going on?” Scott shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, nothing.” A throat was cleared.

“We were just sort of discussing. . . some silly old school memories. . . uhh.” A hand waved it off.

“Yeah, we were trying to piece together how the corridors one day were just filled with different kinds of cream in fifth year.” Snorting and laughing was abundant once more.

“Right.” Scott attempted a smile.

“Hey Scott,” another mate appeared behind him and clapped his shoulder. He turned to the rest of the group. “Greetings all. Have we found out how the fuck this guy,” he pointed to Scott and attempted good humour, “got into this school. I mean, since when were schools for wizards open to Squibs.”

“Yeah, Tanner. I don't know what you pulled of to get in here. What do you do for the courses that require this?” His friend twirled the wand.

Scott startled and shoved his friend off. “Wow. Right. I’m out.”

See, at this point the word ‘friend’ was used sarcastically, albeit as a form of juxtaposition, bringing to light the differences between the loosely regulated word ‘friend’ and the true meaning of friendship. Ultimately, Scott had realised that his mates weren’t very, well, matey after all. In this moment, it had also occurred to Scott that this was the perfect chance to reveal that he wasn’t the only Squib in this school—that there were others. He could name them. He could divert this sort of behaviour away from himself and disperse it among the conglomerate. After all, was it really that fair that he was the only one being treated this way?

 

* * *

 Asha was sat in the courtyard with her sorority who were busy reminiscing about their Hogwarts days. She was feeling off. She had yet to classify or name this off-ness. She passively listened to the conversation around her while staring at her art textbook.

“Oh my Merlin, _Accio_ chapstick I’m so glad we don’t have to deal with that Professor Gillis anymore.”

“Right?! Urghh my inkpot— _Reparo_.”

“Let me say that I do not miss all of those essays we had to do—is Alyssa sleeping? Alyssa! ALYSSA! Damn it. _Sonorus_. **ALYSSA, BITCH, WAKE UP!** ”

“Yeah what?!”

“You were sleeping.”

“Yeah. . . I knew that.”

“. . .”

“ _Anteoculatia_. That’s what you get for waking me up.”

“Ugh.”

And then Asha came to a realisation. Asha realised that a hollow feeling in her chest—the same kind she got a couple years ago during her gradual realisation that she was stuck in the wrong body. In the same way she came into terms that she was, in fact, female, she had to come into terms that she was no longer magical.

‘No longer’ because she had been once. Her last magical incident occurred when she was eight years old. She had nearly vanished her own home. That had resulted in The Big Telling Off by her parents encouraging her to suppress her magical abilities as best she could before she learnt to control it. She’d suppressed her ability to such a degree that her name got taken off an elusive list of wizards and witches and she never got her letter to Hogwarts. Several things had died on the day of The Big Telling Off—figuratively speaking: her magical ability, her childhood imagination, and her confidence.

 

* * *

 “I’ll have you know,” David proclaimed, “I used to have rather long hair that I could pull into a man bun. That thing,” he maintained eye contact with Janus “was awesome. If I wanted to, I could definitely grow it back.”

“OK, David,” Janus held his hands out, “You do realise that you’re the one we make fun of the most because you seem the coolest and, maybe, the sexiest—that last one is between you and Li.”

“What? What kind of logic is that?” David sputtered.

“Oh well haven’t you been informed by popular media? Openly nerd is so in and sexy right now.” Janus didn’t even bother to look up from his Microprocessor-Based Systems homework.

“No, I meant—you know what? Never mind.” David sighed. Janus smirked.

 

* * *

 

“We made it!” Pepé high-fived Desta.

“Heh.” Desta’s response was suspiciously low on the enthusiasm scale. Specifically, from ‘HOLY SHIT! PUPPIES!’ to staring at rubber bands, she was a capping and uncapping a pen.

“What’s wrong, Des?” Pepé was reasonably concerned.

“It’s just that—it’s nothing. I’m happy for you, for us.” Desta turned the corners of her lips upwards.

“You know that you can talk to me about anything.” Pepé’s voice went soft. He put a hand at her shoulder and looked into her eyes. Pepé did well to be the best brother he could be to her.

Desta nodded and considered this to herself. “It’s just that you. . . you’re a Squib and what happens if the game gets really intense. What if you get hurt and can’t help yourself? What if—I’ll just be really scared for you all the time, Pepé. Do you not understand how dangerous this game can get? Why do you think that Muggles have nothing like it.”

“. . .” Pepé was stunned.

“You’re—you’re a liability, Pepé.”

 

* * *

 

“All I am saying is that marriage itself is unnatural. The only reason to do it is to show off your money, be an egoistic bitch without being so obvious about it, or, tax benefits. Oh, and property for divorces. I'm just saying, maybe, take that husband-wife-marriages-only-bullshit stick out of your ass and start not caring about how non-heterosexuality affects you because it doesn't.” Fatima, unwilling to rant to anyone in this school she might have called a friend in the previous week settled for a Vish.

“Right. You do understand that I do support LGBTQA+ rights.” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Uhh. . .” was all Fatima could manage.

“But I am all up to discuss the matter; you make some good points: marriage isn't natural. It isn't found in any species except for humans. Homosexuality, on the other hand—absolutely natural. Mu—Non-magical researchers have found homosexual behaviours in a wide variety of species. Natural law theory should apply here.”

“How do you know that?” Fatima crossed her arms. “How do you know about that sort of research?”

Vish looked at the passing horde of students because he suddenly felt uncertain, “well, I read about it, I guess. It's not as though discussions regarding LGBTQA+ rights are completely unheard of. Umm. . . my mum’s a researcher for this sort of thing.” Vish’s mum was also a ‘Muggle,’ not that he found that bit of information relevant to the current discussion.

“Oh cool.” Fatima beamed at him.

“I actually came up to you because I wanted to ask you something.” Vish ran a hand through his curls.

“Sure, Jones, anything.” Fatima, being Fatima, liked to think she was a very open person. For the most part, she was right.

“Uhh. . . well first, you can just,” he shrugged, “call me Vish.” Fatima nodded. “What I wanted to ask was how you manage to keep your. . . umm. . . hair. . . smooth. You know, even though it's very curly.”

“Well. . .” Fatima, in her shock, stared, wide-eyed, for a good 17 seconds.

“I just think that,” Vishnu gestured at his hair, “it was time I admitted I needed help and maybe it will, I don't know, end my war against combs.”

Fatima nodded vigorously, “Argan Oil.”

“That's it?” Vish looked pleasantly surprised amidst his flushing.

“Pretty much. Maybe also shea butter.”

“Alright,” Vish put away his little notepad and quill—damn those things looked weird together. “Thank you.”

Vish waved a hasty goodbye. Vish was running a tad late to his next class.

Fatima sighed. _Okay, so maybe these people aren't so bad with gay rights._

She nearly shrieked when she felt a hand at her shoulder.

It was Fang, who was struggling not to roll her eyes at the shrieking.

“We’re meeting in front of the tapestry with the bear or dog creatures and the antelopes with the crooked horns at the Lupin Wing. Please be there?”

Fatima nodded. She freely admitted that he rather missed the conglomerate in the past week. Even Scott, who was too sure of his sexual orientation and a bit selectively and unintentionally racist against Far East Asians. What she missed was understanding people. There seemed to be massive cultural differences in communication—why did people ask her where she kept her wand? What was a Bagshot? A Lockhart? Was using magic so often really necessary? What's the difference between a spell, a charm, and an incantation, anyway?

 

* * *

 

“And done.” Li put his hands behind his head and leant back in his chair. He felt very content. He had just finished his online homework.

Li tilted his head suddenly, realising something, “if wands and spells and incantations and stuff are of human construct. . . why bother?”

 

* * *

 

“Janus, how many courses are you taking because I almost never see you around?” David removed his sunglasses from his face and tucked it into his shirt.

“Uhh. . . Just one.”

The nine-tenths of an eyebrow rose. “Just one.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I just said.” Janus gave David a wide-eyed look that displayed confusion over the sudden decrease in mental capacity.

“Why is that?”

“Well. . .” Janus shoved his hands into his pockets. “I told you I was taking electrical engineering in another university. I am so close to graduating there.”

“But then why would you need to go here?” David’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“Because my mum’s a professor here.” Janus looked down at his feet. “And I didn’t want her to know that I plan to finish my degree and get away from here.”

David asked himself the same question he did that night he and Fang had drinks: _but do they really need their parents if they’re doing so well on their own and especially if they only serve to hold them back?_  

* * *

 

 

 


	6. POLI 216: Peace & Conflict Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Concepts of peace and conflict and examination of nature of various social relations discussed. This course introduces a range of potential new conflicts with the purpose of developing critical perspectives regarding conflict resolution as a means to achieve concord._

“Guys, this is the tapestry of the angry tree with a car-shaped tumour.” David walked up carrying his opinions—or they would be once he read them—and a sudoku puzzle. Fatima, Pépé, and Scott each had their arms crossed and their heads turned away from each other.

“Well, pardon us if it looks like super fluffy dogs and a goat.” Fatima scowled at David, but Pepé snickered.

“These tapestry-makers are shit.” Scott scoffed. “They look the same.”

“They all seem like references to things we should understand—I don’t see it.” David shrugged.

“That was random.” Scott looked at David, concerned.

“How _did_ you find a room behind a tapestry anyway?” Pepé assumed a less hostile posture as the group walked towards the tapestry of the less impressive markhor and the over-sized dingos.

David scratched the back of his neck. “Apparently, there are rooms behind almost every tapestry in this building. Also, each set of armour has a unique trigger that will open the wall behind it to a room or a set of stairs.”

David did not want to tell them he and Fang learnt of things as a result of a smash-and-run incident involving David’s clumsiness, the domino effect of lined-up armour, and a load of miscellaneous information from scrolls of parchment given to him by the Dean Professor when all he asked for was a list of students and their courses.

Janus, Asha, Fang, and Li were already seated when David, Scott, Fatima, and Pepé entered the (not so) secret room.

“Oh.” Scott nodded. “I get it. Are we all meeting here because you don’t want to be seen with a known squib like me?” He rolled his eyes.

“Scott,” Fang’s gentle eye contact calmed him down slightly. “You’re not the only one of us who is openly non-magical.”

Scott blinked rapidly and looked around.

Li looked up from his laptop. “My parents tell everyone I’m non-magical.”

“But you were arguing with me the other day.” Scott looked ‘confuzzled.’

Li remained silent, wearing the same expression he had when a compound he expected to be soluble resulted in producing a goopy suspension in his test tube: confused, maybe a little offended on principle. “The other—oh that, I was merely pointing out some things you may want to be aware of given the topic of discussion.”

“So you don’t really care about any of this?” Scott crossed his arms.

“No—” Li held his index finger up, “that would imply an existing social aspect in my life—which, as far as I am aware, is not the case.” Li snickered to himself.

“Oh.” Scott uncrossed his arms. He decided then that, given his new separation from his old ‘friends,’ Li might make a wonderful new friend—if he was up for that sort of thing.

Janus coughed in the background.

“I think we should lay as low as possible for as long as we can.” Asha’s little voice squeaked from the corner of the room. Apparently, despite trying to separate herself from everything else this group has done, she chose to attend this little conference.

Pepé shrugged and mumbled, “to each their own.”

“How did that attitude work out for your tryouts?” Fatima turned to him. She wouldn’t give any inclination then that she nearly got whiplash.

“Fantastic.” Pepé said dryly, “I made it.”

“Oh. Well. . . Congratulations.” Fatima faltered. She remembered then that she genuinely liked him as a friend. He was fun to be around.

“Then. . . th—thank you.” Pepé stuttered.

“Yeah, Pepé congrats.” David clapped his shoulder, Fang smiled at him warmly, and Scott gave him a look of approval.

“What did you make?” Li asked, looking up from where he was happily coding something I wish I understood well enough to tell you. For some reason that only made sense to him, he expected the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in the room. He frowned, realising that he only smelt room-made-to-feel-old smell.

“I made the team.” Pepé was ecstatic.

“Am I on it?” Li looked hopeful.

“Erm. . .” Pepé looked conflicted. “No.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Li’s nose scrunched up. “What sort of team was it?”

“Quidditch.” Pepé just looked at him.

“Ugh.” Li said disgustedly. “Quidditch. I don’t understand—what’s the point of brooms? Aren’t they a pain to sit on? In terms of aerodynamics, brooms are the worst thing you could use—the bristles are always facing one way; surely if you could get them to spin around like a helicopter, it’d be easier to lift off the ground? Like. . . Duh,” but at this point, Li was mostly talking to himself.

“I’m proud of you, bro” Janus gave him a fist bump.

“I mean, the bristles aren’t even curved downwards, has nobody heard of lift? If there is less air pressure on top of the broom than the bottom—”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Asha interjected meekly.

“Well, yes it’s dangerous,” Li was still fuming comically, “The only mechanism capable of drag is pulling up the broom so that you expose more surface area to the horizontally incoming air. You can’t fine control that unless, by some miracle, you’ve got mad skills—most people don’t have mad skills. Where are the safety mechanisms?”

Pepé stifled a groan of exasperation. “For a human, you mean?”

“I still think you’d be better off with pulse jets.” Li had his arms crossed.

“I mean isn’t it dangerous for non-magical people?”

“It’s dangerous regardless of your magical ability or lack of it,” Li pointed out, “but there are several wizard biases to be aware of.”

“Wizard biases?”

“Like biases that work in favour of wizards. Like how the world has a right-handed and male bias? No? Okay. . .” Li just went back to typing muttering about safety mechanisms in cars and regulation of temperatures in buildings.

“Regardless,” Fang straightened in her seat, “back to the matter we discussed—although Pepé, we are celebrating later—we’re all discussing this as though squibs are lesser than wizards.”

“Aren’t they though?” Asha’s mumbling could be heard as this was a very small and currently quiet room.

“No.” David said firmly. “Think about it, we’ve experienced the internet. We have an entire internet and these people have seen little to none of that.”

“Like the Amish?” Li asked.

“Kind of.” David tilted his head and smiled. He liked Li.

“The point is that we’re not lesser, we’re not better either, we’re just different. There are cultural differences.” Fang had a way of talking that captured the room. “Understandably, growing up non-magical in a magical community and having little choice but to live predominantly in the non-magical community, we have each felt alone no matter where we go. We were lifetime social outcasts, but. . . at least now we’ve got each other.”

“Or something much less clichéd.” David leant back in his chair and met Fang’s weak glare with a cheeky smile.

“No internet.” Li repeated, choosing to fixate on that bit of David and Fang’s joint spiel. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, then closed again, then opened back up. “What the flip?”

“That means no answers right at your fingertips when you don’t know the answer to something.” David looked almost offended.

“GTS!” Janus pumped his fist.

“That means no anxiety over net neutrality, no streaming, no singing goats and sneezing pandas.” David put his hand on his chest in mock pity.

“That is flipping messed up.” Li shook his head vigorously. Li couldn’t imagine his life without the internet—in Estonia, it was practically a basic, human right.

“We could compromise,” Scott suggested.

“How so?”

“Well. . . Alright. I have not and will continue to not like actively tell anybody and if nobody asks then it doesn’t matter right?” Scott thought back to the opportunity he had to reveal them all, relieved that he hadn’t given enough rat posteriors to actually act upon that opportunity.

“We could each go around the table and vocalise our perspectives.” Fang nodded. “I personally don’t mind—if anybody asks, I would tell them the truth, but for the most part, it’s nobody’s business. I’m not going to let it get in the way of being seen with anybody here. For the rest of you, I respect your right to autonomy and confidentiality.”

“I agree with that.” David straightened in his seat.

“Yep. What she said.” Li didn’t take his eyes off the table. “Although since people would know anyway, this may make this discussion for me irrelevant.” Li shrugged.

Pepé gulped and looked visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, but I guess that makes sense.”

Fatima looked to Fang, “You’re right,” and then around the table, “I’m sorry about. . . you know.”

There was a murmur of agreements that indicated the group was likewise; except for Asha who was. . . well, a bit lost and nervous.

Asha couldn’t look at anybody.

“If you need time,” Fang said with the most sincerity she could display, “we completely understand.”

Asha just nodded.

* * *

“Are you looking for something?”

David looked around to find a kid with a matchstick between his lips looking up for him. He had a half-decent, vaguely New York accent.

“Uh. . .” David articulated. “Well. . . I was wondering if you knew much about the Auror Training Wing?”

“Yeah,” the kid nodded, “Yeah, I know a little something about that.”

“Okay. . .” David scratched his beard, “Could you point me towards it?”

“Yeah,” the kid nodded again. “Yeah, I could do that. Follow me, I’m heading that way anyways.”

“Right, thanks. . .” David trailed off and decided to play along. He put on his best Robert De Niro accent, “You got a name, kid?”

“Yeah, I got a name” David did his best to keep a straight face as the kid did his best to keep the matchstick in his mouth as he talked. “They call me Dewy.”

David prolonged his frowning and nodding, “I see. Why’d they call you that?”

“Cause, see, I'm as fresh as the early morning grass.” David thought Linda would get a kick out of this kid. Who was Linda? He probably wouldn't tell you.

“And what's somebody like you doing in a place like this?” It might have occurred to you at this point that David was pretty good with children, although he hates that phrase, he preferred to say that he was socially compatible with the youth—Linda urged him to find a new phrase because that was a bit weirder—David had his reasons—anyway, he got along well with little people. Why? He had his reasons. Not that he would tell you.

The kid dropped his act for one question, “You mean like in the school or like on the way the way to the Auror wing?”

“Both.”

“I'm in this school because they call me a herbology prodiggity and on the way to the Auror department because I'm meeting with a contact.”

“A prodiggity, huh?” David assumed the face he would make of the corners of his mouth had been melted and nodded some more. “What are you—strictly biz, don't play around*?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Dewy’s matchstick fell out of his mouth, although he caught it in his hand just on time. David looked at him closely and realised Dewy didn't understand the reference.

“I’m David, by the way.” David held his hand out for the little man to shake it.

“Well. . . David, I’m off now to, you know, meet my contact. See you around.” Dewy grinned a goofy, wide, parting grin.

“See you around, kid.” David watched as the boy scampered off before getting to the matter at hand. So, why exactly was David at the Auror wing? Well, he had his reasons. . . not that he would tell you. I’m sure you realise that by now.

* * *

“Okay, team, listen up,” Cassiopeia Pince barked at her line-up. She smelt fresh meat this year. “If you think that, just because you’re good enough to pass tryouts, you’re good enough to play for this team, you’re wrong!”

Pepé and Desta straightened their postures simultaneously.

Cass sized up the new recruits. “I see we have a pair of Obi twins for Beaters—typical. . . You were picked out of a necessity—don’t get cocky. LET THE BLOODBATH BEGIN. THIS. IS. WAR. . . Well, war practice. LAPS PEOPLE. I WANT 12, AROUND THE FIELD.”

Pepé could do laps—he was perfectly comfortable with running as was necessary with all the other sports he played, but his sister’s words rung in his head—you’re a liability. At a result of this, dread ran over him like a monster truck over neatly parked cars in a video for a sweetened citrus beverage starring the queen of the universe.

* * *

Fang arrived at her apartment building from the hospital, fumbling with her keys, and stumbling through the doorway. Despite her tiredness, she took a detour to the mailbox room. With bleary eyes, she nearly missed the lone scarlet envelope. She blinked her tiredness away, temporarily and took it, confused.

Up at her apartment, she would never forget the moment she started to open that envelope when it started floating up and away from her fingertips.

* * *

Li walked out of his calculus class rather stunned. He walked in a daze. From his face, I wasn’t able to tell if it was a damn, that calculus class was remarkably stupid face or a I emerge enlightened face. Thankfully, Li muttered to himself—mostly—“The calculus professor is non-magical. The calculus professor is non-magical.” Li felt a bit wonderful.

* * *

“Janus!” The voice rang through the hallways of his home the moment he shut his front door behind him.

Janus whimpered quietly.

“How many times have I told you? What in Merlin’s name are you doing with these?!” Her fist shook—in her hand, an emptied orange vial.

 _NO,_ Janus felt himself start to empty from the inside before helplessness seeped into his system. _No, man, keep it together, breathe, count,_ but Janus sensed he was screwed. . . indubitably.

* * *

“You look familiar.” Zero Diaz tapped his chin, frowning.

Asha stopped in her tracks and whirled around, immediately cursing herself for doing so. “I. . .” She tried to play it off. “I don’t know what you mean.” Asha crossed her arms and slowly turned to start walking away.

She missed the spark of recognition in his eyes.

“Ash? Is that you?” Zero walked towards her to give her a one-handed hug.

“Uhh. . .” Asha just stood there as she accepted the hug.

“It _is._ You look great? How was Magic School in India, what was it called again?” Zero chatted animatedly.

Asha’s head fell, she felt rather screwed.

* * *

Fang was furious. She was gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, practically snarling. She held in her hand a burnt-out matchstick, at her feet, a silent pile of ashes. That’s when she heard the banging on her apartment door.

Fang thought she was screwed, but being a mostly omniscient narrator, I can tell you that this was, in fact, very much the case—she was absolutely spot on.

* * *

[ ](http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/emiliemarinafuchs/media/06_zpstz2pkybl.png.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *line from lyrics of ‘No Diggity,’ which is not mine at all
> 
> Comments are 110% appreciated because I am insecure enough to care what you think.


End file.
